Recurring Nightmare
by KatyDancerDaly
Summary: When your world falls apart, being strong for the people you love can only last so long, and will only get you so far. Established John/Sherlock and Greg/Mycroft, includes original characters.
1. Chapter 1 - Gather the Family

The air is still, so still that Greg is afraid to breathe too hard, less Mycroft jump from the sudden sensation of the changing air. It's been several days, sometimes it feels like months, sometimes hours. The passage of time just seems so irrelevant. It all seems so irrelevant.

Greg isn't exactly sure how long it's been, Mycroft would know obviously, but he can't ask, he can't be the first to speak. He isn't sure what words he would say anyway. There just aren't words. Not for this. So, they sit here in silence, barely breathing,

But at least Myc is out of bed, Greg thinks. Somewhere he knows its for the sake of Sherlock and John, who sit mirroring the silence on the sofa opposite them, and not for him. Greg can't focus on the fact he wasn't enough to get Mycroft out of bed, the spare bed, he just can't.

He hadn't even wanted them to come around today, or ever. To be fair, he had never wanted to see another living human besides Mycroft for the rest of his life. The thought that they can still go on, that he can still go on, as part of their lives if not his own, made him feel sick.

But John being John had insisted, "It's not good to be alone", he'd said. Greg had only let them come, because somewhere underneath it all, he knew that John was right. Damn the doctor in him, for always knowing best. And Sherlock being Sherlock, couldn't seem to have cared less about the welfare of his brother, and was definitely only here under Johns _persuasion._ And now here they all were, sat in Greg and Mycroft's living room, with everything to quiet, and everything to still.

After however long they've been sitting, the silence is broken by a soft knock on the door; which startles Mycroft slightly, in a way that normal people who didn't know him that well wouldn't have noticed. A quick tensing of his seemingly too relaxed muscles, a held breath for a half a second, and a blink that was just to long. But he isn't surrounded by normal people is he. Its his family. _His family._ Anyone else and he wouldn't even have got out of bed.

Its Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft knows, everyone in the room knows. He does listen when Greg talks, for the most part, even now. Enough to know he said she would becoming around now. No one else, apart from the people currently in the room, would dare to visit him under normal circumstances; and these were not normal circumstances.

After the 4th heartbeat, Greg realizes someone must let her in. For a moment his body is so reluctant to let him stand, that he considers just curling further into the sofa, and never leaving. Somehow, he gets to his feet, with his body protesting, he wants to scream. He wants to scream so badly he can feel it rising. But he silently, to silently, proceeds to walk to the door.

Between the living room and the front room door, Greg focuses on his breathing, Breathing and the fact he **cannot** burst into tears the moment he sees Mrs. Hudson, no matter how much he wants to.

His hand reaches for the door, and for a second he recalls the last time he opened that door. _The night it happened._ And he can't breathe again.

Another knock, and he realizes he hasn't opened the door yet, he's just been staring at it. So, he opens it quickly, before he can change his mind.

The cold air is the first thing to hit him. It's coming up to winter, this Christmas was going to be perfect.

The second thing, he realizes Mrs. Hudson is not alone, she promised she would be. Promised there would be no more intruders on their home today, than herself, Sherlock and John. Greg really isn't sure if he can handle keeping up this pretence in front of more people than absolutely necessary. Keeping it in front of Mycroft is the most important, and definitely the most draining part of it all, he can't risk Mycroft for the sake of a stranger. Greg feels a pang of guilt, for the blame has now placed on this stranger, mixed with the white-hot anger of Mrs. Hudson lies, and the ever-present numbness.

But Mrs. Hudson never lies. Not to her family.


	2. Chapter 2 - A Strangers Power

"Hi sweetheart", with a smile that to the untrained eye would look insincere. But Greg knows that she is just trying to be a usually smiling self in a difficult situation, and he is grateful. So grateful, he wants to cry again. The numbness is alleviated slightly by the flash of normality, and for that he feels the guilt intensive, and the numbness returns.

"This young gentleman was waiting outside when I got here." She pauses, waiting for a reply that doesn't come. "Would it be okay if we came in dear, I'm starting to feel the chill." With that request Greg is brought out of his trance, realizing he was just staring, and he stumbles a little.

"I, yes. Of course. I'm sorry. Come in."

Mumbling her thank you's, Mrs. Hudson picks up her bags, presumably shopping for himself and Mycroft Greg thinks, and goes straight through to the kitchen.

The stranger stands just inside of the door as Greg shuts it, removing the rucksack of his left shoulder, he just waits.

"Is there something I could help you with?" Greg says as calmly as he can when he realizes he's got to say something.

"My names James. I was hoping to speak with Mycroft if it's not too much trouble." He replies, not quite looking Greg in the eyes.

"Look," Greg says with a sigh, as he senses the man's sincerity. "It's not really a great time for visitors right now."

"No, of course not," James says with a half-smile. "It's just, I'm an old friend, and when I heard he was off work, I knew instantly what had happened…. And I just wanted to see him, let him know I'm here and that. But it's stupid, you don't need me randomly turning up on your doorstep. I'm sorry, I'll go."

Something in his voice makes Greg stop him from leaving, maybe the genuine concern he seems to feel for Mycroft. "Wait here. I'll tell him you want to see him, see what he says okay?" Don't get your hopes up, Greg thinks.

"Okay," James says as he turns around, the small sound of hope and sadness in his voice is evident, from the possibility of being reunited with his friend for so long. "Thank you."

Greg nods softly, and heads first into the kitchen, where he notices the shopping but no Mrs. Hudson, and then into the living room where he thinks she must be with the others.

Standing outside the Livingroom door here can hear the quiet conversation of everyone he knows is on the other side of the door that's been left slightly ajar, everyone but Mycroft.

Taking a deep breath, he opens the door enough to step inside, and the conversation halts completely. Mycroft gives that look, that look that Greg has been so uncomfortable accustomed to. He's trying to be warm, like he used to be. But the small smile he can manage, never quite reaches his eyes.

Greg stands there for a moment, in the doorway, looking at Mycroft, who still has the ability to make his mind go infuriatingly blank. John must pick up on the blank look, the way Greg's eyes gloss over and the tears that want to fall. The way Mycroft subconsciously mirrors the look, the two lost briefly in a silent pain, John coughs a little to loud and with a sharp intake of breath, the two break out of their trance. Mycroft resumes his task of looking out the window.

"Is our mystery guest still here?" Mrs. Hudson asks.

"Visitor?" Sherlock asks, with a questioning look in his eyes.

"Someone to see Mycroft, actually." Mycroft turns around a little too quickly, that Greg is able to see the dizziness that momentarily overwhelms him, he has to fight the urge to run over to him. "You don't have to see him, if you don't want to. I can send him away."

"Its fine, he's here now. You might as well send him in." Mycroft says trying to sound as professional as he can, no one dare comment on how fake he sounds. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Right, Okay then." Greg says, mostly to himself, as he turns to leave the room. Returning with James in tow a minute later.

When the two men re-enter the room, James stands where Greg stood a few minutes earlier.

With a small genuine smile, looking directly at Mycroft and just above a whisper James says, "Hey stranger".

Tears immediately overflow Mycroft eyes, and Greg who is now standing here he in front of the window, Mycroft was just looking out of for so long, is shocked. Mycroft stands seemingly propelled by this onslaught of emotions, and with a quiet cry, he practically throws himself a James.

"You came." He whispers in between sobs.

"Of course, I did. I would have been here sooner I just….", realizing there is no way that Mycroft is even listening to him he stops. "Hey now, sh sh. You're alright, I've got you."

And with that Greg leaves the room before he throws up. The front door is heard being slammed shut a few moments later.

Only then does Mycroft realizes what he's done, but he can't bring himself to care, as he continues to cry in James' arms.

"We'll give you two some time," Mrs. Hudson interjects with a sad smile.

With that John stands, "We'll go and find Greg, come on Sherlock." Sherlock sighs and mumbles something about not finishing his tea yet, being careful not to look at Mycroft, knowing his brother wouldn't want him to see him in this state. John replies quickly with something about promising him a fresh pot when they get home and rushes him out of the room.

Realizing that Mycroft isn't in a position to take in any information, as he leaves the room John speaks to the James, "We'll be around tomorrow, if you need anything in the meantime Mycroft has all of our numbers. We'll ring young when we've found Greg."

"Okay." James replies, with a smile and watery eyes, tightening his grip on Mycroft.

As they leave the house, they stand for a moment hearing the suddenly louder cries of Mycroft, and James repeated assurances that it would be okay. John and Sherlock look questioningly at each other, before they quickly leave the house. Sherlock intending to get straight home and process what he's seen, John desperate to find Greg.


	3. Chapter 3 - Running away, Running home?

John and Sherlock split up shortly after they left Greg and Mycroft's home. Sherlock was just as serious about not looking for Greg, as John was about finding him. After a short argument about looking out for your friends, which Sherlock barely said anything, other than "My mind is made up Joh, I'm better off at home…. He's your friend not mine." The last bit had stung, of course it had; it was a lie anyway, but Sherlock couldn't admit to that. He needed to get home, to process the day's events, to understand that he really knew very little about his brother and why that was. Who was that stranger? Why did Mycroft have such an outburst? So many questions, he needed to get home, to think. But he couldn't explain that to John, not with his mind so focused on Greg. So fighting was easier.

John had the cab they both got drop Sherlock a few streets away from Baker Street, mumbling something about going to check the office to see if anyone had heard from Greg, after he dropped Mrs. Hudson off at her sister's. Sherlock had sighed, but got out without much of a complaint. And walked the streets to his home automatically, barely noticing the world around him and where he was, as he became more lost in his thoughts.

As he got closer to his home, he noticed a figure seated on the front doorstep. Realizing it was Greg, he wanted to turn the other way and run, to avoid the inevitable confrontation that would ensue. But as he got closer he saw how broken the man looked.

Back at his home he'd put a lot of effort into keeping up appearance, I mean, Sherlock could tell it was a front, but it was a good front. There was no front here. Just a vulnerable man, who even from a distance in the slowly darkening night, Sherlock could tell was focusing on is breathing. As if he was convinced he would stop, should he lose his concentration. His cheeks were flushed with the reminisce of tears, this momentarily frustrated Sherlock as he realized he had no way of knowing if these were tears of pain or anger. And by extension, he was unable to be completely certain of Greg's emotional state.

But as he got to outside his home before Greg stood, shoving his hands into his pockets, as if holding to something to keep himself balanced. Sherlock quickly determined that whatever these mix of emotions were, they presented no direct threat to him.

"I'm sorry to just turn up here Sherlock." His name snapped him out of his thoughts and he realized he'd been staring at Greg. How long had he been staring for? "I just, I wasn't sure where else to go, you see… And I couldn't go home, I hope you don't mind?" Had Greg just asked a question, Sherlock was still in shock. Surely he would know that John would have gone looking for him, so in coming here he knew he'd see Sherlock, which means he came here with that intention. And Sherlock doesn't know what to do about that, but he supposes he should let him in.

It's not that he particular wants to let him in, to have to deal with more emotions he doesn't understand, when he doesn't understand his own. But it is clear that he can't leave him out on the streets, if anything were to happen Sherlock is pretty sure Greg wouldn't fight back. So he lets him in.

"Do come in, Lestrade." Sherlock says, trying to sound as normal as possible. Stepping past Greg, he opens his front.

Greg smiles at this attempt at normality from Sherlock, though it so faked that even Greg can tell but he tried, and for that Greg is grateful.

Following Sherlock inside Greg shuts the door, and tries to avoid thinking about the fact he was just for a single moment a little less upset about everything. He forgot. In all of this, for that moment forgot, it felt normal. And he can't forget, whatever has happened today, he can't forget. And it can never be normal again. But he needs not to think about that now, he'll feel guilty later. He's pretty convinced that any more emotion would probably crush him, and he doesn't really want to test that theory.

So he focuses on following Sherlock, on shutting the door behind them, and walking up the stairs. One foot in front of the other, he can do that.

Sherlock realizes that he should text John, lest he be looking for Greg all night. And does so quickly _"He is here. SH."_ , as he hears Greg's footsteps up the door behind him.

He places his phone on the coffee table, taking off his coat and scarf, putting them in their rightful place; walking quickly in the kitchen.

"Do take a seat Lestrade. Two sugars, is that correct?"

"Yes, thanks, Sherlock."

Sherlock winces at the emotions in the forcefulness of Greg replies. His hoarse voice, reflecting how much he as truly been crying. And it's like Sherlock can hear it all, every cry. And so he tries to ignore it.

When he goes back into his living room with two cups of tea, he sees Greg sitting on the sofa, not really looking at anything. He silently hands Greg the drink, who takes it with another attempted smile.

Sherlock sits in his chair, waiting for John. Its an uncomfortable silence for Sherlock, but Greg is pleased by it. He knows Sherlock wouldn't know what to say, and he's glad he isn't trying. Knowing that John will, when he gets here and slightly dreading that.

The way that Greg holds his drink, a little too tightly, and surely with the heat of a freshly boiled cup it must be painful Sherlock surmised. He had to put his on the table, that is the only noise that breaks the silence, while the two of them wait for John to arrive.

The almost scalding pain of that drink is all that's keeping Greg from dissolving into pain. As it cools he finds himself longing for the distraction of the pain, for a brief moment contemplating other ways he can emulate, missing the way it ground him.

The front door opening snaps Greg from his thoughts. Greg stills himself, placing his still full cup on the table, ready for the coming wrath of Dr. John Watson.


	4. Chapter 4 - A Friend in John

"Hey." John says, to calmly.

Greg tries again to smile, at the attempted warm greeting of his friend, he fails miserably.

An awkwardness fills the room, which Sherlock quickly picks up on, as John takes a seat on the sofa next to Greg. "Cup of tea, John?" He asks attempting to fill the silence.

"Please love." John replies as he takes Greg's now ice cold drink from him. "I think Greg could do with another one as well." He continues, smiling warmly at Sherlock as he reaches to take Greg's along with his own into the kitchen.

John really was going to let Greg speak first, he really truly was. But when he hadn't said a work by the time Sherlock had returned with their drinks and excused himself to the bedroom to work on a case of some sort; which both John and Greg knew was just an excuse to get out of an uncomfortable situation, Greg couldn't blame him he would do the same if he could. But as Greg still hadn't spoken John decided he should probably go first.

"So, I take it, you don't know who that James is then?" He asks trying to be casual while taking a sip of his tea. Whether it was the question it's self or the fact that John had spoken braking the silence, that made Greg still, it's hard to say. But he visibly stiffened, tightening his grip on the drink and looking for the first time since he'd arrived back home.

"No." He whispers, but it sounds a little like a sob, "Sorry.". Tears fill his eyes, and he quickly puts his drink down, realizing he'll probably drop it soon if he doesn't. Hugging himself weakly, he looks away from John, apologizing quietly.

"There's no need to apologise to me mate. But tell me what's this really about? It feels like more than just, you know.

"And that's the problem isn't it." Greg replies with an anger that seems to come out of nowhere. 'I shouldn't be thinking of who that guy is, and why Myc could talk to him and not me. I shouldn't be jealous now, should I? I should be with Mycroft, and instead, I'm here." At this point, Greg stands and begins to pace as his anger rising again. "I'm here, screaming at you, while he's crying with a guy he's never mentioned before. And I just" Greg sucks in air to quickly "I just… I… John! ….. I can't breathe" he practically screams silently grabbing his chest and looking at John tears streaming down his face. He suddenly runs from the room into the toilet, gaging forcefully. John follows quickly, careful not to touch the now visible shaking man.

"Greg, you're hyperventilating. Having a panic attack. You need to slow your breathing." He places a hand on Greg's back, who is leaning of the toilet

"DON'T. He screams pushing John back so forcefully, he almost falls, catching himself on the door frame.

"John, I'm sorry. I… I don't…." Greg mumbles, as he slides down the wall curling in on himself. He bangs his head a little too forcefully for John's liking on the wall behind him several times, as if trying to snap himself out of the panic flooding his body.

"Greg." John says, clearly and calmly. "I'm ok, I know you didn't mean it. I shouldn't have touched you, I'm sorry." As he speaks John lowers himself to Greg's level, and that's enough to stop him banging his, but he still isn't breathing properly.

"Greg, I need you to focus on me, can you do that

"Try." Greg gets out, in-between gasps.

"Good." John smiles. "I want you to take a deep breath in and hold it for 3 seconds, okay?"

Greg nods. Taking a deep breath managing to only hold it for a moment, he chokes out the breath he tried to hold

"Can't …. Do …. Anything…." He stammers out angrily between attempted breaths, slamming his fist to the floor.

"You can" John assures him. "You can do this, just try again, okay?"

Greg closes his eyes and tries again to breathe. Breathing is easy, right? Of course, it is! Its instinct! You're a grown man! GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF!

"Greg!", John shouts, attempting to snap Greg out of whatever thought process has made every muscle in his body tense so much so that his muscles bulge slightly, and John is sure he isn't breathing.

"You need to breathe, Greg you're going to pass out. What use are you to Mycroft if you pass out?" John tries hoping his love of Mycroft can anchor Greg back to earth. It doesn't work so well.

"He…. doesn't …. got … James." Greg slurs through his quickly bluing lips, before slumping to the side and going completely lax.

"Dammit Greg." John mumbles as he attempts to lie Greg down, checking if his still breathing. Though the returning colour to his lips, and the steadying rise and fall of his chest is proof of this, John still needs to be sure. "Sherlock get in here. I need you."

Moments late Sherlock appears at the door. "What happened", he says just standing at the doorway, seemingly frozen by the unconscious Greg.

"He was hyperventilating so much he passed out. He'll be fine, just needs to lie down. Help me get him into my room."

"And where, pray tell, are you going to sleep tonight John." Sherlock mumbles as he grabs Lestrade's legs, lifting his lower half simultaneously with John, and taking him to the nearest bedroom, Johns.

"I will sleep on the sofa, if you don't want my company." John replies with an exaggerated smirk.

Once the two men have got Greg comfortable in John's bedroom, which is pretty much the spare room now, but that's neither here nor there. John intent on speaking to Mycroft as soon as possible, hastily takes a light sedative from the medical bag in the kitchen, placing it on the kitchen table.

"I have to go out, Sherlock. If he wakes before I get back and he's struggling to sleep or starting to panic again, give him one of these, and make him a cupper. Can you manage that?"

Sherlock who had gone straight to sit back in his chair, didn't respond.

"Sherlock."

"Yes, John?"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes, if Lestrade wakes, I'm to make him tea and present him with one of those sleeping pills if he seems agitated. I heard you."

"This is important, Sherlock please, look after him."

"I will do as you require of me John, of course."

"Thank you." John responds, placing a chased kiss on Sherlocks head, before he leaves to go and have much needed words with Mycroft.


	5. Chapter 5 - Confronting Mycroft

Its late. To late for a visit normally, but not for this. Time has no baring on this situation, and John needs to make Mycroft see. See that this is about Greg too, that at a time like this, they need each other. See just how much Greg is falling apart.  
Standing outside the Lestrade, Mycroft home, John has to control the sudden bout of anger he feels, remind himself that both men are suffering. But after Greg's reaction its going to take all his professional strength, as a doctor and veteran, to not yell at Mycroft, and that James.

He knocks quietly. To his dismay, its James that answers.  
"Hi… "James falters realizing he never took the time to learn the name of the man that stands before him.  
"John." John replies frustration evident in his voice, he continues "I need to speak with Mycroft."  
"Now isn't a great time, John."  
"It is never going to be a great time to have this conversation."  
A flash of resignation crosses James's faces, as he realizes John is right. With a small nod he concedes and lets John into the home. This is going to be painful either way he thinks, might as well get it over and done with as soon as possible.

There is so little lighting on, compared to the last time John was in this house, that for a moment he wonders if Mycroft is sleeping and if its worth waking him for this discussion? He needs sleep just as much as Greg, and if he's finally getting it now he should be left alone.

As John enters the Livingroom following James, he sees that Mycroft is indeed still awake unsurprisingly, and sat in much the same position he was earlier, once again staring out the window. He's sat slightly more slumped than earlier, but John is sure this isn't him relaxed, simply just a reflection of him giving up on controlling the emotions he had worked so hard to hide earlier.  
"We found Greg, he turned up at ours."  
"How is he?" Mycroft questions, turning to look at John, still unable to look him in the eye.  
"He's sleeping now, he's doing as well as can be expected."  
"Don't hide the truth from me, John. Even in the current circumstance I do not appreciate information being withheld from me, particularly about those I care for. Now I will ask again, and you will give me a complete answer. How is Gregory?"  
On his lover's name, Mycroft's voice wavers slightly, John isn't quite sure whether this is simple because this is the most words Mycroft has said in a considerable amount of time, or whether it reflects the true concern that Mycroft is feeling for Greg. Though if it were the latter of the two, Mycroft would normally hide the emotions, though it is unlikely he has the strength to do so, even if he wanted to. John is impressed by the strength he was able to put into the words he spoke, faked clearly, but almost believable.  
"He collapsed." It is then that Mycroft meets Johns eyes. "He's fine, physically, Mycroft. I promise." John quickly supplies, noticing the concern flash across his eyes. "He got himself worked up about everything I suppose, particularly James." John says, looking briefly over to James who is sat next to Mycroft, with a small space between them.  
"What why? I don't understand." Mycroft questions clearly confused.  
"You did openly weep in my arms in front of him, Mycroft", James answers.  
Guilt is evident in Mycroft voice as he speaks. "I didn't mean to upset him, I just…" Mycroft stops.  
"I get it Mycroft, it can be hard to open up to the ones we love, strangers, can be easier. I just… I".  
"Oh, do spit it out, John."  
Looking directly into Mycroft eyes, John continues, sometimes you just have to say it he thinks. "You were the reason he was being strong, Mycroft. So, he could be there for you. And now, he thinks you've got someone else. And after everything you've lost recently, I don't think he can handle the idea of losing you as well."  
Tears roll down Mycroft face as he understands his actions properly for the first time, and they hurt. He betrayed his lover, as accidental as it may be, he still did it. His throat closes up for the first time it isn't from the inexplainable heartache he's slowly becoming accustomed too. Its guilt, pure and simple, guilt. And he hates himself.  
After a long pause, the tears drying on his face, Mycroft speaks. "I need to see him." He says quickly standing.  
"Mycroft, he's resting. He needs to sleep right now, its late."  
"Then why did you come here, John? Why now and not the morning? Because this can't wait." Mycroft sobs once, heading to the door to collect his jacket quickly, hoping the distraction will stop him falling a part again. He needs to get to Greg, if he falls a part again, its going to take him longer.  
He places the jacket quickly over his night attire, John is pretty sure he's forgotten he's not really dressed to leave the house. But I don't suppose he was planning to leave, John reasons. As he and James follow him quickly, sharing a brief look of concern, that Mycroft picks up on as he turns to face the two of them.  
"Look John. I won't wake him, okay. I'll wait till he wakes to talk to him, I promise. I just… I need to see him, see that he's still breathing…. See him for myself, you know." Mycroft rambles, looking directly at John, hoping he can see the sincerity and hope in his eyes.  
"I should be getting back to Christine anyway, John. And its probably not good for him to be alone right now." James supplies, after it is clear that John doesn't know what to say.  
"Christine?" John asks.  
"My wife." James answers, sensing Johns confusion. He smiles, noticing his relief.  
"You have my temporary address, and my number. We won't come tomorrow, Mycroft. I think you need some time with Greg. But we'll see you the day after, if you're up for it." James says, grabbing his jacket from the front door, and softly kissing Mycroft's head. "But you have my number if you need me before then." he continues. Before looking back and giving a silent goodbye to John and heading out the door.  
"Please John." Mycroft asks moments later. Any other day and John would think he was seeing, but this was Mycroft Holmes actually begging John for something? Yes, sadly, John surmised. And with such desperation, how could John refuse.  
"You can come back to ours, but you're sleeping on the couch, and you don't wake him."  
"Of course, John." And after a moment, "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Mycroft." John says dumbfounded by Mycroft's use of manners, as he opens the front door.  
"Wait!" Mycroft says urgently. Fleeing quickly back into the Livingroom, returning with his phone, and something evident in his pocket, which at that moment, John thinks it is best to ignore for the moment, to get back to Greg and Sherlock quicker. "I'll get Anthea to send a car" he continues pressing a few buttons on his phone and trying to be calmer, but John can see the act. "You must have spent a small fortune on taxis recently." he continues, trying to laugh.  
John smiles briefly, as the two venture outside into the cold night air. Waiting a few short moments, before a black limo appears on the road in front of them.  
As the two get in the car, and Mycroft informs the driver of their intended destination. John contemplates two things; Firstly, if there will ever be a situation where Mycroft will ride in a car that is not so extravagant. Secondly, and more importantly, if Greg will be awake when they get home.  
For his sake, as well as Mycroft and Greg's, he sincerely hopes not. Johns not sure how much more he can take tonight, and he really just wants to go to bed.


	6. Chapter 6- In the end the truth will out

The limo ride with Mycroft had only made John want to get in bed more, by the time the two reached 221B that's all he could think of. They hadn't spoken on the entire journey, and it definitely wasn't a comfortable silence, but it was probably a necessary one. John would still likely have snapped at Mycroft without little provocation, and provocation was still Mycroft's middle name, even if he'd forgotten it at the moment.

As the two men entered the flat, John spoke in hushed tones. "You'll be alright on the sofa, Mycroft? Greg's in my room, and I'll stay with Sherlock." John waited for Mycroft to reply, while he put the kettle on and brought Mycroft a tea, for shock John thought, momentarily wondering how long shock can last for, but it was definitely to late for those types of thoughts. "Mycroft?" He questioned a little louder.

"Yes John, your sofa is most expectable, but I'll be honest, I don't see myself doing much sleeping." Mycroft replied sitting on the sofa, with a carefully blank expression.

"Well do try, at least to rest, Mycroft. I'll be back in a moment, with some bedding for you."

"Ever the doctor, John." Mycroft replied stoically.

When John returned he saw Mycroft sat holding the drink he had made moments early, knowing full well that Mycroft wouldn't drink it, and suspecting he knew that too. Had he been thinking properly he would have offered him the same sleeping pill he had left for Greg, but thinking is something that is increasingly difficult to do the more tired you are. When he finally got to his bed, next to Sherlock, he was asleep in seconds.

It was in that position, Greg found Mycroft a few short hours later. His eyes closed he appeared to be sleeping, but he was still holding the tea, a testament to the tightness of the grip he heled on the cup.

Greg had only gotten up use the bathroom and was instantly shocked to see Mycroft there. He considered waking him, but as he knew the man had barely slept recently, he decided against it. Taking the cup gently from his hand, he proceeded to lie Mycroft down, removing his slippers and covering him with the blanket that sat next to him. And then he went back to bed. He still needed more sleep before he was able to deal with this, and he, forgetting in his shock all need for the bathroom.

Mycroft woke sometime later, to Greg sitting in the chair opposite the sofa watching him. After Greg couldn't fall back to sleep earlier that night, he moved back into the Livingroom simply to be close to Mycroft.

"Hi." Mycroft says to attract the attention of Greg who was absent-mindedly staring at nothing in particular.

"Hey" Greg replies standing quickly, "Can I get you a cuppa?", he asks moving into the kitchen before Mycroft even replies, he is not ready for this.

Mycroft follows Greg into the kitchen, "We need to talk about this", he places a hand on Greg's arm.

"No." Greg replies anger seeping from his voice, as he pulls from Mycroft's touch he spills the boiling water of the kettle he was in the middle of pouring over his hand.

"Shit", he yelps hissing. Quickly moving to put his now scolded hand under the cold water, Greg tries in vain to suppress the tears, only partially caused by his now burning right hand.

At that moment John walked in. "Are you okay Greg?"

"Yeah mate, sorry didn't mean to wake you, I just burnt my hand."

"You didn't wake me, I've always been an early riser, to the dismay of Sherlock." He says with a laugh, "Let me take a look at it." John says trying to take the wrist of the mans injured hand.

"It's fine." Greg says trying to pull away.

"Mate, I'm a doctor, its my job. Now let me see." he says sternly. Greg concedes, looking at Mycroft for a moment, he can see the concern in his eyes, but he hasn't moved from his position.

"It doesn't look to bad, you were right putting your hand under the water. I've got some cream in the bathroom cabinet. I'll go and get it. Go and sit on the sofa I'll be back in a minute".

Reluctantly, and fighting some new instinctual urge to run, Greg goes and sits on the sofa as John told him to, Mycroft follows behind.

The two don't speak, and although Mycroft looks repeatedly at Greg, Greg does not once look at Mycroft, and it kills something within him.

Just as Mycroft tries to say something, John returns, sitting on the coffee table in front of Greg.

"Here's some cream that'll cool the burn down, and a painkiller, just to help" he says with a small smile.

"I'll take the cream, John, but I don't want the painkiller."

"Greg." Mycroft sighs, "If you're in pain, you need to take it."

"Painkillers won't help with this kind of pain, you know that Myc, plus the hands a nice distraction."

Mycroft looks away, suppressing a sob. Greg didn't mean to snap, its just right now he needs his hand to hurt, he needs to feel something else, anything else. He regrets hurting Mycroft, but he can't bring himself to look at the man, let alone apologies.

"You don't have to take the painkillers, but please remember the cream." Greg nods. "Good. Me and Sherlock are going out soon, something about Molly needing help, so we'll be out for most of the day. I'll make you both a cuppa before we leave. And I have my phone if you need anything."

Greg attempts to smile but fails. John takes the attempt, and quickly goes to get Sherlock, the sooner they can get out of the house the sooner the men can talk, he thinks.

Neither men speak until the two of them find themselves alone in the flat.

Mycroft is the first to speak. "Do you want some help putting the cream on?" He asks taking the tube from the coffee table, looking at Greg who still refuses to make eye contact as he asks.

"I'll manage." He mumbles but doesn't reach to take the cream.

"It'll be easier if you let me help." He insists.

"Fine", Greg agrees reluctantly, only now turning to face Mycroft slightly, still avoiding eye contact. He really didn't want his help, he wasn't sure he could take even this slight physical contact after so long without anything meaningful, but he had to concede it would be easier with Mycroft's help.

As Mycroft begins applying the cream gently, Greg feels himself relax, and reluctant to fall apart again, initially tightens his resolve.

"I'll be finished in a moment."

Greg nods to Mycroft's assertion, finally starting to relax into his touch he is filled with panic, that should Mycroft let go he may never be this close again. It is a stupid, irrational thought, and he knows it. But one which is so overpowering that as Mycroft removes his hand, Greg grabs his arm with his other hand, gently squeezing. "Don't let go" he says trying not to sound so pathetic at needing this contact from his lover, he fails, and then "Please."

Mycroft eyes fill at the moment Greg's do and though Greg is unaware of Mycroft tears as he still hasn't looked at the man, Mycroft knows Greg is crying, and for the first time is glad that he isn't crying alone.

The two men cry silently for a moment, together for the first time since that awful day.

When he is in control enough to suppress the whimper Greg finally speaks, still looking away from Mycroft and, so quietly that Mycroft has to fight the urge to move closer to Greg to hear him better.

"I just, I wanted to be there for you Myc, I tried so hard to be strong for you, it was all for you." He sighs and continues "I thought there would be a moment when it hit you, and I didn't want you to be alone. I wanted to be there". Breathe he reminds himself, he wants to stop, but he thinks now he's started he might as well finished. "We're supposed to be in this together, and after everything I knew you needed someone, and I was supposed to… I needed to be that someone. And you fell apart in the arms of a stranger. A stranger Myc! You might know this guy, but I… I don't know who he is. He was there for you, when I couldn't be, when I wasn't enough." Greg sobs audibly for the first time in Mycroft's presence, tightening his grip on Mycroft. "Do you know how pathetic that makes me feel?" He asks as for the first time he looks at Mycroft tears running down both their faces. "We're supposed to be grieving, together. And all I can think about is him and how you need him more than me. I should be thinking about our baby," Greg can barely get the word out, he feels his heart clench, but continues. "I I I'm jealous, Mycroft. I'm jealous of a guy I don't know, and I stopped thinking about her, and I wasn't there for you, and she's gone, and I just… I" he breaks into another sob, severing all contact both physical and otherwise with Mycroft.

For a moment, Mycroft's sits there, watching the love of his life fall apart, as the sobs that wreck his body get louder, and more visible.

He moves to the other end of the sofa, needing the space, and time to breathe before he speaks. He needs to tell Greg, the truth all of it. He knows that now.

"Gregory, there's something I need to tell you, you need to know who James is, you're right and I should have told you sooner." He sighs wiping his face with his hand, and placing the other hand in his pocket, pulling out a small, light blue baby blanket. Greg still isn't looking at him, so he stares at it for a moment, before continuing. "I will tell you it all, my love. But I only want to have to tell this story once. So, I would much prefer John and Sherlock to be here, if you're okay with that of course?"

Now Greg looks at Mycroft, and nods, noticing the baby blanket in his hands, one he'd never seen before. He stills for a moment before Mycroft speaks again.

"Thank you, Gregory. I'll texts them to come back at their earliest convenience."

"Okay" Greg answers in a hoarse voice, "I'm just going to go to the bathroom."

"No problem."

As Greg heads to the bathroom, Mycroft texts John:

If you and my brother could return to your flat at your earliest convenience. We have some things we need to discuss. MH.

And then a moment later: As a family. MH.

Mycroft is glad to be alone for a moment, as he has time to compose himself before he opens up about James, about all of it. He knew it would have to come eventually, and he was sure he could do it, almost sure that he could. Enough time had passed, he reassured himself. His mobile vibrated momentarily breaking his thoughts.

We will be there shortly. JW

In the bathroom Greg fights to get a hold of himself, sitting on the toilet lid, just breathing. He wasn't looking forward to whatever he was going to learn next, half convinced it was that Mycroft was going to leave him for James. Whatever was going to happen, he really didn't want an audience for, and couldn't understand why John and Sherlock had to be there to see it. But if it meant he was going to learn the truth, he could take it. If there was a chance it could bring Mycroft back to him, he could take it.

Nothing much happened until Sherlock and John arrived home a short time later. Greg did end up leaving the bathroom, to back on the sofa with Mycroft. But the two men never spoke, never really looked at each other, or at least did so, so the other would notice.

They couldn't have arrived hone a moment too soon. Or maybe it would have been better if they never arrived home. Mycroft isn't sure which one of these statements is true. But the moment John and Sherlock walk through the door, he genuinely believes the latter of the two.

So now these two men are sitting across from Mycroft and Greg, they have been for a while, they've made tea and everything. But right now, in this moment, its here and he can't find the words. He doesn't know where to start. He wants to sink into some invisible hole, to never exist in another moment again, and he's starting to panic, and then John speaks.

"What's that you're holding Mycroft?"

At first the question doesn't make sense, he wants to ask John to clarify his question, that is until he looks down and sees he's still holding the blue blanket in his lap. Exactly how long he's been holding it for he isn't sure, only then does he realize his hands have gone numb.

"I erm" he fiddles with the blanket in between his fingers, half trying to get the feeling back in his hands, and the other part of him trying to ground himself to the story he's going to have tell. He can do this, you know, he can, it just he really doesn't want to.

"Mycroft, brother dearest." For the first in a long while, Mycroft makes eye contact with Sherlock before he continues. "There was an obvious reason that you insisted John and I return home, and here we are. If you do not hold up your end of the situation, you are wasting all of our time."

"Sherlock!" John interjects quickly.

A small knowing look crosses Mycroft's face, "Its quite alright John. Sherlock is correct in his deduction of my stalling, and I apologies to you all for that you all deserve better from me". As he continues he looks back down at the blanket, "Its just this is a difficult subject for me to discuss, and I don't really know where to start it."

"How about at the beginning, Love." The pet name from Greg gives Mycroft all he needs to start the story; though the distance in his voice, is an ever-present, different kind of terrifying, whether he can get through it all, is another question entirely.

"He was the head councillor at school."

"Mr. Davidson…" Sherlock supplied, instantly knowing where this story was going. His face not to dissimilar from Mycroft's fear etched, deep into the skin. The brothers look at each other, and Mycroft can already see the guilt swell with in Sherlock. It wasn't your fault… it will never be your fault. He wants to scream it at Sherlock, but of course he can already read it on his face.

"Don't be smart Myc." Sherlock says not even trying to hide the pain in his voice, he stands quickly and heads to the kitchen table, placing all his weight on it, breathing harshly he continues. "If I hadn't said anything to you…"

"He would have hurt you instead. We both know that. I'd do anything to protect, Sherlock. Anything." Mycroft said looking properly at Sherlock for the first time.

"Someone abused you as a child, Mycroft?" John asks, not really sure why he's looking for confirmation of what he already knows.

"I believe you would call some of his actions abuse, Dr Watson. Though the most painful were those of a sexual nature." Mycroft says, not really looking anywhere, scared to see the look on the faces of those he cares for most. They'll hate him, he's sure, he deserves there hate.

Sherlock has already hated him for years, he made sure of that to keep him away. And John will try to be civil, managing amicably. But Greg, he will hate him. Plain and simple.

There's silence for a long while, and Mycroft looses all his will to speak. Sherlock hasn't moved from the table, and John hasn't even looked at him. But its Greg Mycroft cares about all he cares about.

"Say something, Gregory please." Mycroft begs, almost whimpering as he speaks. He needs to leave but he can't just walk out, he can't just walk away from Greg, not after everything they've been through.

After another minute, Greg finally looks at Mycroft tears in both there eyes, he asks the one question stuck in his head. It's the one thing he knows he shouldn't be thinking of right now, yet the only thought he has, selfishly he takes a breath and asks. "What does this have to do with James?"

"Really Greg." Sherlock shouts turning round to face everyone, making everyone else in the room jump. "My brother just told us all that he was abused and raped as a child, and the first thing you ask him is about a guy you saw him hug!"

Greg knows that Sherlock is right, he's about to apologies for asking the question at such as a stupid time when Mycroft speaks.

"Sherlock do be quiet. I betrayed Greg, he's entitled to want answers to what he saw."

Sherlock visibly sulks, but says nothing more.

"Mr. Davidson," Mycroft continues, "had his … way with me", closes his eyes for a moment, memories overwhelming him. "Periodically, over several weeks. After the 14th encounter, I felt something, I…." Greg is the only one in the room now looking at Mycroft, everyone else is averting there eyes, and Mycroft is so grateful. "He usually made me sick, but I was never actual sick, I mean the first time, I was, shock perhaps. But the other times, I just let it happen, I was fine." He stops breathing for a moment, visibly shaking, before he continues. "This time, after he finished, I ran straight to the nearest water closet and was sick. I didn't equate it to the recent events at the time, I had been sick a few days, usually in the morning, but it happened daily. Some other boys saw me run, but I couldn't stop, I heard them follow me, and I heard someone stop them, it was James. He came in a few minutes later, handed me some tissue, I was now leaning over the sink, asked me if I was okay. I tried to warn him off, tell him it was not his concern. And then he starts going on about when his sister was pregnant with his niece, and I was sick, again, right there in the sink. I knew, I don't know how, but I knew I was pregnant, and I knew it was his."

"Oh, Mycroft… I" John begins.

"What about the child?" Sherlock interrupts Mycroft looks over to Greg who isn't looking at him anymore, and for a painful moment he's sure it's because he can't, he hates him that much. "If you were pregnant, what happened to the child? And why didn't I notice?!"

Mycroft laughs, his brother's relentless egocentrism, was a comfort. "If I gave you an answer, when you were a child, you took it, had no desire to look any further."

"So you lied to me?", Sherlock states angrily.

"I lied to everyone, Sherlock. Except James. He figured it out, so I … he was there. The only one up until now I ever told. He stood by me, helped me plan what to do. We were, we were, going to give him away. If I kept him, I had to explain it again and again, and I just couldn't. And anyway, he deserved a better life than me."

"You gave away your child?" Greg almost sobs, still not looking directly at Mycroft, but more towards his direction. Small mercies, Mycroft thinks.

"I…" Mycroft tries, looking at Greg seeing the pain in his eyes. He has to look down before he continues, "That was the intended idea, yes Gregory."

"But not what you actually did?" John questions.

Mycroft looks directly at John, tightening his grip on the blanket. "I went into labour earlier than I calculated, so I called James, in a blind panic. He took me away, to this little cottage, his parents own. By the time we got there, I was in so much pain I couldn't think. When I got out of the car, there was blood on the seat, and I almost passed out. He got me inside, and well….. he… he was born. And he didn't cry, Mycroft sobs "not a sound."

Silently for a minute, Mycroft loses himself in his grief and guilt, he's drowning, and he cant breathes, and he just wants to disappear again.

The eyes of everyone else in the room are wet, and John is about to speak if only to brake the deafening silence, when Mycroft continues.

"I didn't even see hin," another sob slips through his body. "James took him away, and buried him in a field somewhere, im not exactly sure where. It was to much then, but now… now I don't even know where to go to see my boy."

"And you've never asked James?" The question is raw, from a broken voice, and that's a big clue to it coming from Greg.

"I tried…. a few times. But I just didn't know how, how to bring up something I told him I wanted to only forget. I told him I wanted to forget my son Greg!" Mycroft's anger at his own actions coming through in his voice. "This blanket is all I have of his…. I tried to get rid of it, but I just couldn't. I just couldn't forget, I tried." And then after I second, "I'm sorry."

Greg places his hand on Mycroft's leg, and Mycroft cant help but jump. He honestly believed he would never feel the touch of the man he irrevocably loves again. Its not much, but its contact. And even that allows Mycroft to breathe a little easier through his sobs.

"Let's go home". Greg says, trying to smile, but as Mycroft looks at him, he knows it isn't a genuine smile, how can it be after all this. But the love his sees in his eyes, is true, and he knows it.

As the two men stand, not loosing their physical connection, Greg speaks quietly to John. "It's going to be the day after tomorrow", he whispers, as Mycroft practically passes out in his arms.

"We'll be there," John assures him, and with a tight nod and unspoken thanks, the two men leave.

John and Sherlock are left alone in the flat. Sherlock still leaning on the table and John just standing in the middle of the livingroom. John doesn't know what he's supposed to do with the information has just been given, and he can see that neither does Sherlock. So John does the only thing he can think of.

He crosses the room quickly, wrapping himself around Sherlock, who looks up to meet his eyes. John strokes the tears as they fall freely down Sherlocks face, he can read a thousand emotions, the strongest one is guilt. He touches his forehead to Sherlocks, willing him to know that whatever happened to Mycroft was not his fault.

John kisses Sherlock, desperately, they both need this contact. "I'm here," he whispers, then a moment later, "I've got you." They touch each other with an increasing feverish speed, John can tell this isn't love, not this time. It's a desperate need to be held, to be loved, wanted, forgiven. And he is happy to supply what Sherlock needs, not wanting to be alone either.

Things progress to the bedroom, as they inevitably do. And for the first time in all the times the two of them have slept together, Sherlock cries as they make love.


	7. Chapter 7 - Stronger Together

Mycroft was too out of it to notice as they entered the Limo, but as they arrive at his and Greg's home, he notices the light in the sky. It's about midday. For a moment Mycroft's mind flutters to where they will be two days from now, as he stands there waiting for Greg to let them into their home. A touch on his arm brings him back to reality, and silently he follows his lover inside.

Neither of them talks, Greg doesn't know what to say and Mycroft's just tired of talking, tired of it all. He heads straight to bed, to their room for the first time, while Greg puts the kettle on a brings them both a cup, silently wondering if this time the tea will actually be drunk.

When he gets on to the bed, sitting next to Mycroft who is just sat on top of the blankets, he holds in his desire to point out that this is the first time the two of them have been in this room since that night.

The two of them sit wordlessly for a moment holding their drinks. What was supposed to happen now? Two days, 48 hours, there was nothing to be done but sit here and wait till then. And then? And then it would happen, and be over. Then what? What now?

Mycroft and Greg are somehow sharing the same thoughts, and this train is only broken when Mycroft begins to shiver. The room isn't cold, but Mycroft is freezing.

"I erm, I'm going to shower," Greg says absentmindedly as he picks up his phone. "It's 9 O'clock already. We missed tea." How did that happen? Greg wonders for a fleeting moment. "Are you hungry? I can make something quick? Or we can order in?"

Mycroft's replies not in words, but simply places his still full mug on the bedside table, lie on his side an curl himself into a tight ball.

Greg sighs quietly and heads to the bathroom, placing his equally full mug on his bedside table as he goes.

Waking sometime later, from something akin to sleep. Mycroft roles over and is surprised not to find Greg lying beside him. It takes a moment for his hearing to focus completely, but then he can hear the shower water running.

Looking at the time, he sees it almost 1 am, surely Greg should have showered by now. Mycroft goes to investigate.

Walking into the bathroom, he is instantly hit by steam, the heat following quickly behind that.

"Greg?" he questions lightly, moving into the large smoke-filled bathroom.

"My" and then a sob.

Mycroft heads to the shower, opening the shower door a little too quickly. He sees Greg curled into the corner of the shower cubical naked, trembling slightly.

"Honey," Mycroft says as he turns the water off. "How long have you been here?", he says grabbing a robe and wrapping it around Greg. When he doesn't get an answer he continues, "Come on love lets get you to bed."

It isn't till about an hour later when they're both lying in bed and Greg thinks Mycroft is asleep that he speaks, so quietly its almost a whisper. "I'm sorry I let you down, My. I promise Ill be stronger tomorrow."

"Oh, Gregory," Mycroft replies rolling over to face his husband. Placing his arm around him holding him as tight to himself as he possibly can, and kissing his tear-stained face. "You be strong for me, and I'll be strong for you, that's how… that's how this is going to work. Okay?"

"Yeah." Greg can only sigh in response, almost like he's letting a breath out. They are both now crying slightly. "Okay, Mycroft."

Their foreheads touch, as the two focus only on there breathing. Eventually falling into a dreamless sleep. The closest to peaceful the two have had since this ordeal began.


End file.
